


glutton for confession

by besttransplant



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel), Fate/stay night - All Media Types, Fate/stay night: Unlimited Blade Works (Anime 2014)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Blow Jobs, Catholic Guilt, Church Sex, Confession Booth, Confessions, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Gender-neutral Reader, Manipulation, Multi, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Priest Kink, Reader-Insert, Religion Kink, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, everyone is of age and consenting but please do not fuck your local priest, reader is afab and gender neutral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26961826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besttransplant/pseuds/besttransplant
Summary: "The mystery swirling around his true intentions never leaves your thoughts. Every extra glance, every lingering pat on the shoulder, the strange knowing smiles he casts when the two of you are alone. You blamed your frazzled, lonesome super-third year brain on concocting unfounded motives. Surely no man of the cloth, or any virtuous man really, would give in to such impure ideas."You confess to Father Kotomine.
Relationships: Kotomine Kirei/Female Reader, Kotomine Kirei/Original Character(s), Kotomine Kirei/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 39





	glutton for confession

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is my best work as yet, 6.3k words and three beta readers later. Thank you to Katie, Caesar and Eddie for looking over this and giving me some great feedback. You guys motivate me to keep writing what I want to see in the world (or rather, story ideas I'd love to see realized).
> 
> I plan on writing an addition to this but...Dantès and Cú and Jalter and Ozy all need my attention first. Too many hot people in Fate. Please send help.
> 
> Comments and kudos keep me motivated to write more, and I'd love more input on what to write next! Thank you, and enjoy!

Contributing to the small church across from your university was not what you expected to do after moving somewhere new for the first time. You had your sacraments and knew your Hail Mary’s, but that didn’t mean you had any lifelong affection for the faith. Church was about seeing your relatives more than once a year and getting enough community service hours to finish high school. College churches stank of impersonal, cookie-cutter gospel singing, with all the pomp that came with the faith at its worst.

This is what surprised you about this church. It was simple, not even a church, more a chapel lit with tall red candles and long, clear windows that cast the dark wooden pews in fresh light. It was peaceful, a sanctuary that calmed your otherwise anxious soul. You knew polished marble floors and freshly lacquered oak pews, high tech air conditioning and a grandiose pipe organ. The chapel was a snapshot of a simpler time, quiet and perfect in its antiquity and you loved it even more for it. 

Kirei Kotomine was the sole keeper of this chapel, a priest as austere in dress and manner as the church he guarded. The most priestly decoration he allowed himself was a golden pendant, maybe a cobalt stole if he anticipated a higher turnout. You wondered if he procured it out of duty. His sermons were subdued but bursting with deep invocations of the Lord’s words, bending them with ease, turning your head to listen every Sunday. His homilies were spoken with such vigor, but with an air of detachment that unsettled you, just as much as it excited you.

Surely, you could have joined any number of organizations on campus. You found book clubs and film societies grating and ill-fitting, despite your English major. Your problem was that you needed people to discuss stories with, and the people in these clubs were the same shallow, uninteresting tripe that filled countless Greek life houses. They wanted to put something on their resume, and the chance to talk about The Godfather like they even knew what “cinematography” meant. You just wanted good conversation for once. 

So, you joined the church. You led Bible study sessions with local high schoolers, swept floors in the afternoons, lit candles and dusted any surface the light could touch. You helped Father Kotomine switch out the songbooks, and passed out mass schedules on Sundays. The other youth group leaders were friendly, in the genuine way that let you sleep soundly at night. 

You could do a good thing.

You could be a good person. 

You could do this.

And yet you felt like you couldn’t, with such a burning secret in your heart. 

College is about finding your path, finding your people, even if it meant bumping into a million strange individuals along the way. And while you found some friends and overly eager acquaintances along the way, Father Kotomine stood amongst the rest. Deep respect twisted into something white-hot and base as the weeks dragged on. In a rapidly moving world, he was unwavering like a statue, where his words were final. A single stern word or a modicum of praise would send you reeling for days. The days he would switch out his coat for short sleeves, exposing his well-toned arms made you sink into your pew in awe and genuine distress. Shame burned hot in your chest when he looked your way and smiled, thanking you for a job well done. It drove you to long for something more, something you can’t have.

The mystery swirling around his true intentions never leaves your thoughts. Every extra glance, every lingering pat on the shoulder, the strange knowing smiles he casts when the two of you are alone. You blamed your frazzled, lonesome super-third year brain on concocting unfounded motives. Surely no man of the cloth, or any virtuous man really, would give in to such impure ideas. 

*~*~*

You’re closing the chapel on a Friday, after a long day of youth group activities and cleaning duties. You take pride in your work, but not enough to love the generous coating of dust in your throat. Maybe you should convince the priest to petition the higher clergymen for a less archaic air conditioning system.

You cough up against the archway leading into the hall, bent over with one arm supporting your weight. A sudden drop of energy hits you, flooding your system. ‘Too much work, not enough rest,’ you muse absentmindedly before you realize someone is trying to catch your attention.

“Staying late again, my dear pupil? I didn’t take you for the forgetful type,” Kotomine says, coming up as you rip another nasty cough. He furrows his brow as you come up to speak for yourself, but he’s quicker than you. A warm, broad hand presses against your forehead and suddenly you’ve forgotten how to speak.

How did he get so close? Why didn’t you notice what a deep brown his eyes were, searching your own for signs of exhaustion? His other hand reaches around to check your pulse along your neck. The one active thought coursing through you is how he could feel it racing much more easily on the inside of your wrist. Your chest squeezes tight when his hands leave. 

He shakes his head with a soft  _ tsk _ . “You’re certainly not sick, but a youth like you shouldn’t be so pale. Get a good nights' rest and come back fresh for mass on Sunday. And do be so kind as to not skip confession, understood?”

You blink and realize he’s addressing you. You nod feverishly, spitting out a meek “Yes, F-Father Kotomine” before ducking to leave. You brush against him in your haste and catch a hint of his scent; a sharp pine cologne. You bite your lip and nearly trip on the way out. Pushing you home on your bike is the burning shame you would feel if he saw how quickly your face could flare up from a single, innocent touch.

*~*~*

Ever since your first communion, your excuse for skipping confession was that you never understood the point of it. You knew about the booths, but when your first communion came around, you gave confession in what amounted to a poorly lit waiting room. Part of you was morbidly curious about what it would be like in a booth, but it was more for the novelty of it. Plus, wasn’t it more efficient to confess to God during prayer anyways?

Regardless, Father Kotomine reminded you to confess every week and you were too polite to say no outright. He sighed at your excuses, even when the motive behind them changed drastically. You could lie through your teeth, but if you were stuck in a dark, enclosed space with the source of your deepest desires speaking to you, and you alone in such deep, husky tones, you knew something unwanted would spill out.

And yet, you craved it even more. You  _ loved  _ speaking to Father Kotomine alone, when all the rabble fell away and you could be (mostly) honest about what was bouncing around your mind. He was sympathetic to your struggles as a student, and genuinely interested in your favorite stories. You had met other Austen lovers before, but to find someone else who had read Pride and Prejudice twice, even three times like you? Unthinkable. And yet Father Kotomine was there, chuckling as you excitedly spoke about Austen’s razor-sharp wit.

The person you wanted most of all, separated by a wooden lattice door and centuries’ worth of tradition. You wanted to laugh, maybe cry if you dwelled on it long enough. 

You don’t know what makes you drag your feet to the end of the line of the booth, long after the last hymns echo off the walls. With each step, your breath gets heavier, and with each churchgoer leaving the booth, your heart pounds faster. You could easily duck out and blame it on a call from your mother, but that makes the shame welling up in your throat all the more constricting. You’re torn between hiding from the priest or baring just enough of your mortal soul to relieve the pressure to keep the charade alive.

You check to see if you two would be the only ones left in the church before ducking into the dark compartment. 

The door goes  _ click  _ as you shuffle into the dark wooden room. A small, flickering bulb casts a shadow across the lattice door, and you see a familiar outline as a wooden screen is slid away. The privilege of admiring his silhouette makes your chest tight once again.

You do the sign of the cross and begin. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was…” Your words drift off as you try to count how many years ago your first communion was.

“Dear pupil, are you confessing for your lack of confession?” He murmurs, almost as though to himself. Your eyes widen and you are instantly thankful that the light in the booth is dim. You swallow and continue.

“P-perhaps. I have not confessed since taking my first communion.”

“I see. Continue, and I can help you craft a worthy confession to make up for lost time.”

Worthy…how could someone like him ever see you as worthy?

“I have had…impure thoughts about people in my life. I have wished grave things against them, and I have had desires for…people I should not.”

He hums affirmatively. “Forgive my candor, but this sounds familiar. Your troubles with your own peers, yes?”

“Y-yes.”

“Confession requires details to be accurate and beneficial. Would you make me privy to what aroused your anger towards them exactly?”

Your eyes squeeze tight at the juvenile rush of adrenaline that courses through you.  _ Stop being such a child! It’s a normal word!  _

__

You dance around the topic while lending him bits of actual confession. Despite the blood rushing between your legs and your face, you understand why confessional booths are so effective. Words are hard, and sometimes another person can temper them into something worthy of absolution.

It soon crumbles with his next question.

“Now, can you go into detail about who you are having…impure thoughts about?”

Your stomach drops and your lips tremble. “I…”

Silence. Mind-numbing silence.

“Yes?”

You swallow again, mouth suddenly dry. Your head spins and you realize that the walls of the booth feel too close. You need to escape. Not the box, but whatever is holding the rest of you inside, bottled up and ready to froth out, hard and fast and soon.

“I keep having impure thoughts for someone I cannot have, under any circumstances.” You breathe it out, all at once, hoping he won’t understand what the letters strung together mean.

The short, pregnant silence is cut by an uncharacteristically enthusiastic “Oho?”

“This must cause you a considerable amount of suffering, dear pupil. You’ve never mentioned this to me before.” You hear robes shuffling around, and his outline leans forward. You swear that he purred out each syllable of ‘suffering’. The walls close in further, and yet you can’t stop.

“No, I haven’t because I’m afraid he would…cast me aside if he discovered it. I am ashamed of my sin.” You hang your head, hands digging into your thighs like you could cut the offending muscle out. “I worry that I am unworthy…this sin hangs heavy upon my shoulders, Father.”

The priest takes a deep sigh. “Then confess further, pupil. I will do all in my power to lift this burden from you, should you stop hiding the truth from me.”

Lightning strikes your lungs. 

“What?”

He clears his throat and settles on a register you recognize only from his sermons.

“Open your heart to me, and I will settle every doubt in your mind.”

The dam bursts. Your heart stops.

He knows. He knows  _ everything _ .

“I…” You start, feeling warm wetness streak your cheeks and you crumple into ash. A leak breaks into a vicious flood. Your hands cup your face as you hiccup through the pain wreaking through your chest, heaving with effort to breathe as your miserable throat clenches in despair.

“I couldn’t stop…I tried to ignore it, distract myself from it all…but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you…every day I hurt and hurt and hurt but then you were there and it felt…right, like I could do no wrong and I was good and—” You sob between breaths, ignoring all else besides the stream of painful, cutting words aimed at yourself.

“I’ve wanted you…for so long— _ hic _ —and I knew it was wrong, but I was so weak…a dirty sinner trying to hurt but I just – _ hic _ —didn’t want to be alone anymore…don’t— _ hic _ —leave…”

Your sobs muddle your senses, shield you from the world outside the booth. In this moment, you are alone with the pain spilling out of your body, open and exposed like a freshly ripped scab. You feel nothing except the burning of your cheeks, the ache in your neck, the strain of your voice, the slick tears running down your chin. 

Had the priest responded to your pleas, you did not know. You did not hear the lattice door sliding away, the flicking of old latches, the rush of air. 

You did, however, throw your head up at the sound of your name.

A hand. The same calloused hand that rushed to check your vitals days ago, outstretched from the dimly lit booth. You do not dare look up further. 

“Come,” he speaks.

You do not move. You hardly even breathe.

“I swore to lift your burdens, now come to me. I am hardly a patient man,” he breathes, and you rise to answer him.

You not so much as crawl as you do shuffle to join him, barely thinking as if your body moved of its own will. In the dim light, you dare not look up still. You almost summon the courage to speak when his hands find your shoulders, pull and push you to fold your arms over his lap. You are too tired and boneless to question it, shivering with quiet sobs.

“Better?” He asks.

“…For what?” You manage. Another sigh, and there is a gentle hand carding through your hair. Every inch of your skin stands at attention.

“For penance, unless you are done and I misjudged the depth of your sin.” Your eyes bead with fresh tears.“So you won’t…” you start, but another hand reaches to stroke your back and you gasp. 

“Never. Now give up your sins, so that you may repent, my dearest pupil.”

And so, the floodgates opened anew. 

The fresh pain of your first tears had softened, freeing the way for gentler sobbing into the priest’s cassock. You lost sense of time, how long you had spent in the booth, separate and together with the priest in the cool, comforting darkness. You weep and weep and rub your face into his coat, all while he comforts you with slow, even strokes along your back and scalp, down the back of your neck and across your shoulders. Every scratch of his nails sends shivers throughout your prostrate form. He never says a word.

Before long, you submit to his gentle ministrations, let yourself enjoy his warmth despite the inherent peculiarity. You breathe in and out and take in his scent: heady with his cologne, mixed with the remnants of old incense burned during the sermon. It is dark and earthy and it makes your pliant, drained head swirl dreamily. You feel surrounded by him, in all senses of the word, as he holds you close.

His touch is gentle, yet just as off-kilter as his homilies. His skilled fingers smooth over different tense muscles and veins, fleeting motions that reminded you keenly of a surgeon searching for the first incision mark. You feel as if every breath and beat of your body is being recorded and categorized, and the notion pulls your legs tighter together. 

Soon, your tears dry up, and you’re left to catch your breath after pouring your heart out. You slowly pull your arms up, raise your chest to sit on your haunches and look up at Father Kotomine. The sight before you makes your stomach twist and your core pulse hot: a twisted smile, eyes crinkling with something  _ wrong _ .

You  _ seriously  _ need to re-evaluate your fight or flight skills after tonight.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His hand creeps up to your cheek, as if you could run off at any moment. You force yourself to stay still.

“B-better. Thanks.”

His smile softens into something more familiar, and the back of his hand grazes your cheek. Your skin bursts with new heat.

“Excellent,” he continues, stroking your face absentmindedly, out of focus as he muses. “To think that such a perfect follower could have come to my little church on the hill and graced me with such an exceptional confession…I was waiting for you to come to me for so long, pupil.”

Your breath catches and his eyes dart to spy your reaction. His wrist flicks, pinching your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, pulling your neck taut up to face him, breath fanning over your cheeks. His gaze feels like it could reach deep inside of you, pull out whatever he wanted.

“Are you afraid of me?” He whispers, sharpening his gaze, tilting his head as he pushes into your personal space. You whimper against your will, rub your sore legs tight and he laughs, dark and loathsome at your reaction.

“Just as I suspected. Too eager to leave, too scared to speak for yourself.” He bites his lip, pulls in closer. Your noses touch. You can hardly stand the distance separating you two.

You exhale, chest heaving as he waits motionlessly. His head tilts again, jeering. 

“Be warned, pupil. One word, and I won’t stop. Think carefully, or this entire evening will be forgotten,” he says evenly, as if reciting a Hail Mary. Shamelessly, unthinkingly, the very idea of this night, this moment stretched out, dark and ominous and intimate, gone forever strikes fear into the coldest parts of your heart. 

“Please…” you begin, but he is already answering, demanding.

“Louder.”

“Please…have me. Do what you will.”

“You would have me take you? Leave nothing else?”

You pause. Your hands tremble as you pull up from your haunches, rising to his level, still captured in his grip.

“Yes. Only you.”

He laughs viciously and crushes your lips with his, melting you against him, falling into his lap, curling around your darkest desire.

He embraces you like a wolf embraces its first deer: hungrily, sharp with nips across your jaw. The taste of his mouth against yours, breath mingling with the prick of blood melting onto your tongue, overrides all rational thought and plunges you into a quiet frenzy for more. You moan weakly and he swallows each noise greedily, as if it could escape him. You tangle your hands in the front of his coat and use the leverage to grind down on him, and the deep, guttural groan he makes against your lips is pure rapture. 

His hands—those rough, broad hands that you dreamed about roaming over you—pull your shoulders flush against him, forcing your head against his chest. He brushes your hair aside, oddly gentle and slow as he exposes the clear skin of your neck, curving it with the slightest gesture. He presses in and takes a deep inhale, grounding and reverent. You feel his lips curl into a small smile, exhaling softly. Something close to tenderness bubbles up within you, and promptly pops as his mouth opens and you feel the first graze of teeth.

“Wai—AAH!”

He bites down with such ferocity that your heart nearly stops. His canines pierce you and you wail, adrenaline pumping into your veins. You shudder in his clutches, hands tangled in the bottom of his scalp desperately, torn between pulling him away and keeping him in place as he laves his tongue against the mark, sucking and biting even more of you. You settle on succumbing more to this ‘torture,’ mumbling ‘more, more please’ into the crown of his tousled hair as he claims more of the delicate, open skin of your neck. In return, you scratch your nails down his back and take the reward of pleased moans vibrating against your throat.

When he unlatches his mouth from you, you spy small trickles of blood seeping from his lips, a sight that makes you dizzy with need. You kiss him again, lick his mouth and taste the tang of your pain together. Your eyes nearly water at the weak, fluttery feeling blossoming in your chest.

You pull back, and see him looking at you in a daze, cheekbones flushed, eyes dilated yet sharply focused on your neck. Despite the soreness radiating from the mark, you feel Kotomine’s gaze on you more keenly.

“On your knees. Now,” the priest breathes, husky and ever-so impatient. His chest rises and falls harshly, and your only regret is that you didn’t have the chance to peel off his robes and see those muscles up close. You slide back down to rest at his lap, pulling his legs apart to feel for him and gasp.

You don’t have the most experience with intimate matters, but you know that the bulge throbbing under your fingertips is the biggest one you’ve ever had. Your mouth waters at the notion before you even zip him open, feeling how warm and heavy it is in your palm. You peel away the layers to pull him out, fully hard with a bead of precome dripping down the wide, veined shaft. The soft dusting of hairs curling at the base, trailing up his navel, exposing the toned V of his hips makes you salivate. Everything about him is so detectable that you whine at the full sight of him before you, darting your eyes up to capture his gaze.

Head tilted back, forehead slick with sweat, brows knit in need and exhaustion as he peers down at his most devoted disciple between his legs. Kotomine’s cock twitches at the sight, and he snarls with a desperate pull of your head towards him.

Your tongue swirls around the smooth head, suckling and going down further, inch by agonizing inch. A trickle of fear at being unable to take all of him leaks into your heart, and you tighten your throat closer around him, pushing down with a smothered moan. Kotomine’s cock is hot and heavy and smooth against your tongue, and the sheer  _ fullness _ that pulses through you makes your eyes roll back in ecstasy. Stretching your lips tight over his head, flicking your tongue to tease his slit feels so incredible, so satisfying. 

Eyes shut tight in focus, you hear him moan harshly with each hungry lick on the veined underside of his cock. Curious, you repeat the motion, twisting on the upstroke and he curses shakily, grabbing the bottom of your neck to pull you closer. You gag immediately, bracing your arms against the seat to ease off and work the upper half of his cock in apology, but that won’t do for him.

Slowly, his right hand slides to gather the soft hairs at the base of your neck. His left hand joins it, unnoticed as you moan at the taste of his leaking precome, salty and heavy on your tongue. You are cruelly broken out of your reverie once both hands pull you off his leaking cock completely. A lewd string of spit and precome connects your lips to the shiny head of his cock, and your core soaks further. 

You look up again, a question on your swollen lips. You are answered with the same bone-chilling grin as before, laced with desire as he pants. 

“I told you that I was an impatient man, pupil.”

And then he fully sheathes his cock deep within your throat, with one punishing thrust inside. You cry out in pain, only for the breath needed to die gagged in your mouth. 

He sets a brutal pace, jackhammering his cock across your tongue and down your tight, hot throat. Saliva drips and spills down your chin, collecting while he uses you for his own pleasure. Your nose is nearly crushed by his abs as he manhandles you on and off him, using the leverage of your neck and pistoning his hips to reach his end. Through the cruel jabs down your throat, you moan desperately around him, looking up at your savior with new tears in your eyes.

“Look at you, fawning over the attention of a priest doling out such suffering upon you. Such a lovely, macabre scene. A scene worthy of a stained-glass mural, fit for our little church. Have the ministry see what their leaders think of sin, of pleasure and temptation.” A hand releases the back of your neck, switching the grip of the other to keep up the pace. Through the tears and your burning, wet pussy, you feel him gently caress your face, wiping away a stray tear running down your cheek. You whimper and lean into the scrap of affection, and his cruel laughter booms through your skull.

“I wonder if you could come just from the feeling of me using you. Of course, I won’t be done with you just yet, do not worry. I’m getting closer…” His breath hitches on the last word and you let yourself feel smug about it, even as you choke on his cock.

His pace grows erratic, slowing down while he grinds his cock deep against your tongue. His precome flows freely and you try to swallow around him, gripping him further, wet and hot and perfectly tight, and suddenly his whole body is caught in a wave of tremors.

“Yes…yes, more, ahh— _ ahh— _ ” He cries before thrusting in deep and spilling down your throat, his voice hoarse as he groans. His come spills past your lips, bubbling up to drip over your chin, coating you in him and you moan around him. You stay like that for several moments before he softens and your throat opens up.

When he releases you, you wheeze with little grace on the ground. You cough and sputter, struggling to swallow the come left on your tongue. Your chest flares up with heat as you catch your breath. Kotomine’s hand comes to wipe away the stray drops of come on your lips, wiping it into your mouth. You gently lick the remnants of his seed, looking directly into his lidded eyes as you do.

“How was it?” he says, rumbling low and content. 

You struggle with the words. You still can’t quite put together that the blood in your mouth is his, that the come on your lips is his, that he is  _ here  _ and wanting  _ you. _

__

“Perfect, it was… everything I could have wanted. Everything I never thought I would get.”

He chuckles softly. “Everything? There is still much more to be given, pupil. I did not think that your appetite could be sated by my cock alone, flattering as the idea is.”

Why are you still flustered? Why do you shy away from his words? Your shoulders bunch up as if you could shrink and fall away from the box, but he is there to pull you back for more. Your stomach twists, and yet your pussy still drips freely, slicking your thighs.

“What… are you going to do now?” You meander around a question that could set that fierce grin upon you again, hellbent on forbidding any formal engagement. The die was cast, and Kotomine was meant to decide if it was all for naught, after all.

Kotomine rises from the seat after slipping himself back into his slacks. He pulls you up to sit on the pew he so kindly warmed up for you. It feels heavenly on your thighs, the soft heat radiating into the sore flesh. You didn’t even notice the priest slinking down to your previous position until he spreads your legs wide open with one swift movement, revealing your choice in panties under your otherwise modest skirt.

“I never touched you, and yet you’re so close? Hoho, forgive me for doubting your appetite, pupil. You’ve been desperate for my touch for so long…Hmph. Testing your endurance will have to wait for a different night. I’ll have plenty of time to take you to your limits.”

Limits? Endurance? Another night? Is Father Kotomine trying to kill you?

“You want to continue this.” You stuff down the effervescent energy threatening to overload you with a cool statement.

Father Kotomine gives you a lopsided grin. “I wouldn’t be a very good shepherd if I ignored the needs of my favorite lamb, or my own for that matter.”

With that, he grips the edge of your panties and rips them off you. Exposed to the open air, you shiver and press a shaking hand to your forehead. You hear a deep growl from between your legs and you don’t move.

He licks long, slow stripes between the slick crease of your thighs and pussy, catching the wetness pooling against your skin. He bites crescent shaped marks into your thighs, digging in far too deep to be a love bite. He licks and kisses each inch of the absolute territory of your thighs, smooth and untouched. You sigh as he gets closer to your dripping folds. He fans his hands across the marks he’s created so far, blooming pink and purple in the dim light and he watches avidly.

“A masterpiece, a canvas worth painting,” he mumbles, soft like a secret. That fluttering in your chest returns. You cover your face, but he catches a wrist in a flash, quicker than you can understand. His face has hardened into something familiar, something you could’ve seen from a sermon.

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ hide from me. I’ve waited for too long across the aisle, so don’t think you can run away from this just yet,” he jeers, and you nod frantically. He plants both of your palms on the edge of the seat before sinking again and you steel yourself to grip it. A nervous nature could be reeled back only so much, but you were clueless as to what those rough hands had done before.

You feel a finger trace your softer outer folds and you let out a tiny squeak. Testing, coaxing you into further excitement. Your heart pounds and he sinks a finger inside, slipping in and out languidly with your copious slick past the first two knuckles. 

“You’re so wet…I could take you right here so easily, and I could stretch you open so far for me. Have you ride every inch of me on my lap, or take you from behind, against the wall. Tell me, have you ever been with a man?” he asks you as if he was asking about a new tabernacle.

Words catch in your throat when he thrusts his finger in deeper, harder against a spot farther inside your pussy. He watches every tremble of your lips as you struggle to answer, curling his fingers to hook your walls and make you squirm around him.

“Y-yes? But not like that…It was never enough. I needed more…” you whisper, shame still hanging off every word. 

He clicks his tongue. “I would say that I would have wished you had more luck, but then I wouldn’t be doing this.” He pulls his finger out of you, leaving you empty with a soft whine, and he makes a show of staring up into your lidded eyes while licking your slick off his finger. The sight makes you clench around the phantom sensation of him. 

“Tell me what you want, my pupil. Tell me what you need. Crush the shame in your heart so that you can be mine. That’s what you want, don’t you?” Each word is a dagger to the chest. Each word tears at the walls built up after years of fear and denigration. He presses on.

“Answer me.”

“T-touch me…” you say. Your cheeks burn and your fingers cramp in frustration. “Use your mouth…there and get me off. I need you, F—”

“Kirei,” he interrupts. “You can call me Kirei from now on.” He is already heaving your legs up on his shoulders, pulling close to ghost his lips across your navel. “Again.”

You gulp and nod. “Make me yours, Kirei. Please.”

He takes a deep, contented breath. “With pleasure.”

He dives into your folds and suddenly your world goes white-hot. He licks inside you, drinking in your juices ardently, closing his lips around your clit, making you buck up into his face for more. You feel a slight dusting of stubble graze you, and the extra sensation is heavenly on your bare thighs. You cry out wantonly, reaching a trembling hand to pull him deeper, hesitating until he shoots a hand out to plant your palm in his hair. Shocked, you pull and he rewards you with a long, rumbling moan spreading over your lips. Hungry eyes track every breath shaking your gorgeous, sweating body. You feel more naked fully clothed with his sights set on you.

You fall into a sinfully sweet rhythm with each broad stroke of his tongue. You sing for Kirei with high-pitched pleads for more, and he answers each cry in kind. After darting his tongue deep inside of you, he purses his lips over your folds to drink in your juices, even teasing your clit with two fingers to torture you further. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, his hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave more blooms of perfect bruises across your immaculate skin. Every muscle and vein in your body is screaming for release, for an end, and when Kirei stops to focus solely on your clit, you know the end is near. You look down and his eyes are shut in passion, bangs wet with sweat across his forehead.

“K-Kirei, Kirei, Kirei, I’m close, I’m—I need you, please, please, ahh! Kirei!” You breathe out his name like a mantra as your climax bursts through your core and you scream. Your back arches to lock your savior deep in your core. Pleasure unknown to you before surges up your spine, curling your toes as Kirei swallows your rush of slick greedily. He makes the most obscene slurping noises as he indulges in you, long moments after your peak simmers down. His hungry moans make you throb regardless.

Floating high on the afterglow of your orgasm distracts you from the subtle rearrangement of his hands. Your eyes shoot open as two fingers breach your inner walls, still taut.

“Kirei?” You ask shakily.

He looks up from between your legs, a hand poised to rub your clit, and the other likely stretching you open so suddenly. 

“I changed my mind about testing your limits later. I need…another taste,” he says, husky and dark, eyes lidded with something new. You don’t have time to process it before his hands go to work and any coherent thought you had burns up into smoke.

His pace is furious, harsh. Any passion from your first climax is replaced with bottomless greed for overwhelming your senses mercilessly. His arm twists around your leg to lock you in place and rub your clit in curt, sharp circles with his thumb. Two fingers are pumped in and out of your tight, dripping pussy. Blinding pressure in your core, barely bordering on pleasure, is all you feel. You can hardly summon the strength to take a breath deeper than the short, desperate gasps of air his assault allows you.

“T-too much, too much, Kirei, ahh…!” You pant out, but your weak protests fall on deaf ears. Focused on your taste, your overwhelmed moans, your flesh clinging to his hands as he works to torture you towards your next climax, Kirei ceaselessly pounds his hands deeper inside. You come a second time after balancing on the border of pain and pleasure for what feels like hours. Kirei groans like a man washed up from a storm taking his first gulp of freshwater. 

Slowly, you come down to earth. Boneless beyond belief, all warmth leaking out of you, you struggle to keep your eyes open. Your legs fall from his shoulders and you slump down to the booth floor with your savior. Pulled in and cupped close like a china doll, Kirei holds you in his arms, petting down your mussed hair. You register him speaking to you, a soft rumble against your cheek, but the words are lost on you as you shiver. You fall into a deep, dark slumber in Kirei’s arms.

*~*~*~*~*

You don’t know if you’re mortified that you’ve woken up on top of the covers of your bed, or glad that you’re not propped up against a pew for morning mass to see. You know that last night wasn’t a dream the instant you feel the ache in your bones and see the garden of bruises planted across your thighs. Your jaw throbs in protest with your knees, and you’re still fully clothed, save your shoes, neatly tucked away in your closet. 

Waking up takes much longer than usual, but not as long it took for you to realize that…you had sex with a priest. A sadistic priest, who you knew and respected. A sadistic priest that  _ wanted you. _

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you stumble into the kitchen. There is a glint of something metallic on the counter that catches your eye, and more pieces fall into place in the light of the midday sun.

A golden crucifix on a leather cord, pooled over a note written in neat, terse script.

Your chest tightens in both fear and delight.

“ _ Return this to me once you have regained your strength. We have much to discuss and you would do well to recall how I feel about keeping me waiting.  _ –K.K.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> priest simps of the world, UNITE. 
> 
> (find me on my main twit @druidqueen_ or my nsfw twit @succulentnectar. no unsolicited nudes or weird comments pls.)


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